The sound of my Mother’s voice, full of emotion and seriousness, jolted me awake in the early hours of Saturday, the 3rd of December 2016. My room felt dark and cold as I clumsily flipped the blankets away from

myself and fumbled out of bed. Quickly guessing what was happening, I threw a dressing gown over my bed clothes and hurried down the dark, empty corridor, my footsteps echoing off the blank walls. Warmth from a fire quietly burning in the fireplace greeted me as I turned into the lounge, its glow softly lighting up the hospital bed that sat, quiet and still in our homely lounge, its cold steel beams a reflection of its contents.

 

I swiftly walked over to its tall side and awkwardly heaved myself up onto the rickety stool that always sat beside the lifeless bed. Gazing over the side-rail, my eyes tried to focus through the inky blackness crowding

uninvitingly into my life. My heart sunk deep into my chest, the weight of it forcing tears into my eyes. Lovingly covered with a duvet that had become all too familiar in my mind was my Father, his peaceful expression the

only hint of personality left behind. Gently picking up his cold hand, I cradled it in my own and instinctively but carefully felt for a pulse.

 

“Is this it?” I questioned my Mother.

 

“I think so,” she replied.

 

A noise in the doorway made me turn around. Loosely wrapped in a blanket he had dragged from his bed, stood my brother, the expression on his face confused as to what the fuss was about this early in the morning. My Mother softly beckoned him to come and then turned away as tears sprang to her eyes like a heavy

Summer rain that could not be stopped. Realising what it was about, my brother slowly walked over and we huddled together, the only sounds being of the fire softly crackling and my Mother’s muffled sobs.

 

Tears ran down my face like condensation melting on a window. All those months of pain and suffering were over now. Gazing into the flames flickering softly to themselves, I felt peaceful and contented. The deadly disease, affectionately known as The Big C, had taken his life like a thief in the night. Our memories however, remained. The pain would fade with time, like mist fades when the sun comes out, and then we would think of the many good times shared and the countless stories told.